Friday, October 24, 2014

F3 Old School

“What is?”
Flynn replied. They sat at a small café on Hugo station. Flynn occupied himself
with reviewing the list of supplies they needed to repair Calypso.

“These data
slates,” he traced the shape of the slate on the table. Flynn had to admit they
were small. Perhaps a little over a dozen centimeters long and maybe eight
wide, they couldn’t display much information at a time unless they used a
holographic projector. “These are Hierarchy-style slates,” Reese continued. “Much
slimmer than those in the Alliance.”

They didn’t
seem very practical to Flynn. Portable, yes, but having so little information
on the screen at one time would be frustrating.

“What’s
your point, Reese?”

“Only that
devices such as this are easy to relieve from a person.”

Flynn
stopped looking at his slate, then stared at Reese. The man was perfectly calm,
as ever, quietly sipping a cup of tea as he still traced the shape of the slate
with his free thumb.

Flynn’s
voice dropped to a whisper. “You stole that?”

“Captain,
you wound me. Such a vulgar term. I found it by employing some sleight of
hand.”

“You picked
someone’s pocket?”

“If you
must, yes.”

“Reese!”

Reese set
his tea down and made a forestalling gesture. “Please, Captain, stay your
judgment. I’m confident that the owner will return for it soon. I was merely
keeping in practice. The ability to hide and retrieve parcels about a person is
basic tradecraft.”

Flynn went
back to looking at his slate, but he didn’t see anything on the display. Why did I hire an ex-spy, again?